This
by ShortInsomniac
Summary: In which Sherlock is up late working on a case and decides to take a nap, but wakes up to a surprise. Not what you think. Lol. Just a cute little one-shot I wrote. I have come to the realization that I am terrible with titles, hence the single-word title I've given this story. Also, I am still fairly new to the 'Sherlock' fandom, so please forgive any minor inaccuracies. Enjoy! :)


This

This case was really getting to Sherlock Holmes. The facts weren't coming to him as quickly as they usually did, he had only a _fraction_ of a lead, and he hadn't slept in days. He had honestly lost count how many, exactly, though he was sure Mrs. Hudson would have noticed, and would no doubt tell him at breakfast the next morning. She was so kind, so caring, and he loved her for it, but she had no understanding whatsoever of what his work required of him.

He let out a heavy breath and pushed himself from the chair, and he began to pace the room from his chair to the opposite wall and back. His thoughts were coming and going so fast – _too_ fast – and every so often, they would stop as though they were hitting a wall, then they would bounce off said metaphorical wall and go in another direction.

"Sherlock," he heard from the doorway, and he looked up suddenly, drawn from his thoughts.

He was about to spit out some remark, but stopped himself before he could. It was only John.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Well, it's late, you know," John said a bit hesitantly, knowing his request would be an inconvenient one for his companion. "And, erm, I know you'll be working late, but…"

"Yes?" Sherlock said again, becoming just a bit agitated that John was taking so long to get what he wanted out. But he wouldn't outwardly show his annoyance if he could help it.

"Well, I've just gotten Rosie to sleep, and I was hoping you would try to stay quiet," John said.

"Oh," Sherlock said. He nodded. "Alright."

"Thank you," John said, smiling in relief that Sherlock had been so cordial. "I'm going to bed then. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Sherlock said, watching John depart, then, once he was sure he was gone, he rushed to the table to sift through the haphazard piles of papers and notes.

The answer, he believed, had to be there somewhere. It sure wasn't anywhere else he had tried. Perhaps, he considered, he had missed some crucial detail. But he doubted that. A walk would do him good. He grabbed his coat and scarf and threw them on. Just as he was reaching for the doorknob, he heard John's door click shut almost silently and the light switch off, and he retreated from the door. John was right. It was late. Leaving now was not the best idea.

He dropped his coat and scarf back where he had gotten them and sat once more in his chair. He let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, settling into the chair comfortably. Maybe it wasn't a walk he needed. Maybe it was sleep that would do him good. Yes, just a short nap, twenty minutes, an hour or two at the most, then back to work.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he had been asleep when he was woken by a sudden weight on his chest. It felt as though something or someone was lying on top of him. He had experience with sleep paralysis before, usually when he had been on the drugs. Now, though, there were no frightening images, no faces that weren't there, no creeping eyes or hands in the dark. Instead, when he opened his eyes, Sherlock Holmes was vaguely aware of feathery blonde hair and pink polka dotted pajamas.

"Rosie," he whispered, about to move and wake her.

" _Hm_ ," the three-year-old intoned, stirring just a little, hugging him a little closer as she quickly fell back asleep.

After a moment's thought, he gave in and decided to let her stay. There was no reason to wake her only to take her back to her room. It would do more harm than good, and John would be cross with him if he found out he had woken her just to move her after she had fallen back to sleep. Anyway, it was an excuse for him to get some much-needed rest as well. Carefully, he wrapped one arm around her to keep her from falling as he leaned down to reach for his coat on the floor, and he laid it over them like a blanket.

* * *

Early the next morning, when John woke and went to Rosie's room to get her up and ready to start the day, he didn't find her in her bed. In a panic, he ran to find Sherlock, fearing the worst.

"Sherlock!" he cried, clambering into the living room, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scene that was before him in the living room.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, one foot on the floor. His head was resting on one of the uncomfortable little cross-stitch throw pillows Mrs. Hudson had given them, and Rosie lay on his chest under his coat, which covered them both, her little arms wrapped around his neck. John smiled, relieved. No, more than relieved. In fact, this sight warmed his heart more than anything he had seen in a long time.

"What's the matter, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, bustling into the room, wrapping her housecoat around herself.

John turned to face her for just a moment, then looked back to his friend and his daughter asleep on the sofa. "Nothing," he said quietly. "Nothing at all, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, isn't that lovely," she smiled when she saw them, too. "That is a picture if ever I saw one."

She stepped past him quickly and made her way over to the fireplace, where she knew she would find a camera on the mantle. She turned it on and clicked the shutter button. The camera flashed and made a loud, computerized chirping. Sherlock groaned and opened his eyes to glare at her.

"Mrs. Hudson, I do hope you'll be deleting that," he said, his voice full of sleep.

"Oh, Sherlock," she said with an amused sort of laugh, shaking her head as she stepped past John and out of the room once more.

John turned, too, deciding to leave them there to get just a bit more sleep before they started the day. But just before he left the room completely, he looked back and smiled again. "Sociopath, eh?" he chuckled.

"What?" Sherlock said, seeming to not understand.

"There are these…bright, shining moments where I don't see it," he answered. "This is one of them."

"Hm," Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes to go back to sleep and wrapping an arm around the child lying on his chest. The case could wait; this, he realized, was what he needed right now. "If you say so."


End file.
